The Guardian (9 page)

Gabriel’s now between me and whatever that something is. Keeping a death-grip on my arm as he edges us backwards down the aisle, I strain to see around him. But he’s too close. He fills my vision.

At the end of the aisle he whirls with dizzying speed, grabbing my face with both hands. Unable to move my head, I still can’t see what’s causing his panic. His forehead touches mine as he forces me to stare into his agitated eyes. “Alex,” he whispers, the urgency in his tone increasing my terror, “We’re getting out of here! Right now! I want you to bury your face into my shirt and not look at
anything
until we’re outside. Okay?”

My head shakes slightly and I realize it’s Gabriel’s hands, trembling. I manage a nod, the barest of movements, and then I’m being pressed against him. His arm wraps around me, pinning my head tightly against his chest while his other arm blocks my vision as it curls to grip my shoulder. Against my hair he hisses, “We’re moving. Now!”

Stumbling alongside him, Gabriel propels us purposefully down the far aisle toward the door. All I can see are the inside bulges of his upper arm and the sleeve of his faded blue t-shirt, until a beam of light slices across his chest indicating the door’s just ahead.

I sense rather than see the clump of people between us and the exit. We don’t slow as we maneuver through the human labyrinth. My hip bumps against a rack throwing me off-kilter and my feet tangle with Gabriel’s. For a second his iron grip is broken as he tries to steady us. My arm flails connecting with soft human flesh.

Instantaneous and excruciating cold, like being freeze dried, flashes through my body. Reflexively, I search for the source of the pain, my eyes scouring the immediate space. Instead of a person, I’m inches from a black abyss. Paralyzed, I watch as the blackness extends toward me in the form of thick oily tentacles. Smoke, acrid and thick, chokes my airways as I gasp, desperate for oxygen. As the abyss wraps around me, I pitch backwards.

Suddenly I’m outside—standing on the sidewalk. The air is so bright I have to shield my watering eyes. I suck great gulps of air into my aching lungs, as if I’ve just been pulled from a burning building. Vaguely aware of being restrained, I pull away from the hands that seek to pull me back inside, lurching forward like a crazed, wild animal.

The voice is there—calling my name—offering reassurance. I search blindly for the speaker, but my surroundings are too brilliant. Disoriented, I open my arms, begging for help. The voice envelopes me, wrapping around me protectively, like a cocoon. Then there’s the sensation of leaving the earth—hurtling through space toward the source. It’s like being pulled into the core of the sun.

I come to my senses in Gabriel’s embrace. Although I have no recollection of the journey, we’re on the steps of the Fosters’ blue and white porch. Since I’m still unable to support my own weight, Gabriel gently lowers me to the top step, sitting by my side. I slump heavily against his shoulder, grateful to be encircled by his protective, solid arms.

For a while I’m content to sit and nuzzle the soft cotton of his shirt. Inhaling deeply, I let his essence—laundry soap, evergreens, and hardwood—flow through me, washing away the lingering impression of soot. Beyond the shelter of the porch, rain is falling in a steady drizzle, a dense wall that shuts out our surroundings.

When storm picks up ferocity, turning into a hard, cleansing rain that pounds against the earth, I am reminded of the red umbrella and the music store.

“We left your umbrella.”

The words have a lazy, dream-like cadence to them, and I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until Gabriel murmurs, “I’ll get it later.”

The thought of returning to that place makes me cold. The shivering begins. I breathe in Gabriel until my body calms. “What was that thing?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Was it human?”

“Yes.” Gabriel doesn’t move, but because of the way he’s wrapped around me, I feel him stiffen. Angling my head to see his face, I notice his jaw is tense. There’s a hard set to his features as he stares into the rain.

“How did you know?”

A rigid muscle in his jaw ticks, his left eyebrow dips, and then with a forced exhale, his face is as smooth as a mask. “Know what?”

Slowly, I reach up to touch his cheek, but he subtly moves away, a nearly imperceptible shift. Although he’s averting his eyes, I see their haunted and distant quality.

“About me?”

When he pulls back to answer me, his beautiful eyes are flat, as if their light has been extinguished. “What about you, Alexia?”

My own eyes grow huge as I stare at him. With a steady sinking in the pit of my stomach, I repeat the question, carefully enunciating every word. “How did you know about
me
?”

Gabriel turns away. He can’t even look at me as he speaks. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” I scramble away from him, certain to my core he’s lying. But I have no clue what his motivation is for doing so. My voice is sharp and higher in pitch as I continue to accuse him. “Why are you lying to me?”

He stands—a quick jerky motion that makes me jump to my feet in response—and rakes his hand though his hair in frustration. “Why would I lie to you?”

The fact he still can’t face me speaks volumes. My trust—my faith –shatter into shards of rubble at my feet as I watch Gabriel close himself off. I can barely get enough air into my lungs to respond. “You tell me.”

In the following silence, anger floods through me mixing with the hurt of his betrayal until I can barely contain my fury. I can’t ever remember feeling anything close to the wrath that now consumes me. It propels me forward until I’m standing next to him with my hands fisted on my hips, my muscles taut and quivering with rage.

“What exactly happened, then, back at the music store?” My icy voice doesn’t reveal the inferno boiling inside me. I continue to glare at his back as he answers the rain.

“A guy came in—he seemed dangerous—like a criminal or something.”

“No!”

“I—I thought I recognized him from America’s Most Wanted.”

“No.”

“So I tried to get you out of there.”

“No.”

“But you freaked out.”

“No—”

“So I walked you home.”

“No...”

“It turns out it was nothing. I was completely mistaken.”

No…

Like a flash fire, my fury burns itself out, leaving Gabriel’s final words ringing aloof and hollow in my ears. He has been an increasingly important part of my life for these past two months, and now as I stand close enough to wrap my arms around him, an insurmountable chasm divides us.

I am bereft. The storm has ushered in a cold front and I hug myself against the chill.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Alexia.” He doesn’t look back.

I grieve, watching Gabriel duck his head and stride into the storm. As he walks away, his halo flickers, dimmer than usual, and I can’t help but wonder if it has nothing to do with the rain, and everything to do with what has just transpired between us.

CHAPTER 5

Whenever I’ve had one of those days, the song “Bad Day” gets stuck in my head—on a loop. Not the good version with the hot guy. No, I hear the Chipmunks—their high, screechy voices lamenting over lost magic.

There was a little kid in one of my foster families who was obsessed with them, especially their movie. I must’ve heard the chipmunk version of that song, like a million times before things got difficult and I had to move on.

What’s even worse than going to bed with the Chipmunks’ “Bad Day” on a loop, is when they’re still singing in the morning after I wake up. That’s how I know the day is really going to suck.

Well that, and the fact I’ve decided to leave—Gabriel, the Fosters, Midlands High. All of it.

Kate, Steven, Becke, Jonah, and Gabriel—they make me think about possibilities, a life that could never be mine. And while my heart’s pleading
stay
, my head’s screaming
run
!

Running is easier.

Now that I’ve made this decision, there’s a resigned, fatalistic quality to the morning as I go through the motions of getting ready for school. I can admit Gabriel’s changing me. Too much. Because of his brilliant halo, he must have a good reason for lying to me—maybe even a great one—but it doesn’t matter. The old Alex wouldn’t care enough to be upset. Unfortunately, I do… Care.

Every cell in my being wants to trust him—but I can’t.

Before I get outside I see Gabriel through the window panes in the front door, waiting. In the angles of heavy, cut glass, he appears abstract. Distorted. When I open the door he’s perfection again, but the disjointed impression remains.

His smile is cautious but warm as I breeze by him without as much as a glance. Falling easily in step beside me, he has enough sense not to touch me as we walk.

“So you’re not talking to me.” He’s resigned now too, recognizing his own culpability.

I hazard a glance at his stoic face and want to break, to confess my burning need to trust in him and beg him to tell me his secrets, but instead I bite my lip until I taste blood. As we walk our seven blocks in silence, I concentrate on fortifying my resolve to leave.

Like a robot, I move through my classes, letting Gabriel stand between me and the terrible darkness. Stubbornly he occupies my space, as if he’s entitled. When he leaves me at Government he says, “I’ll see you after class, Alex.” Like nothing is wrong.

At our usual lunch table, with Gabriel irritatingly at my side, I distract myself by listening to Becke make plans for our anti-homecoming/movie outing on Saturday. I’ll be gone by then, but I don’t ruin her enthusiasm by telling her so. Out of the corner of my eye I see Naomi doing unnatural things to a lollipop. She makes a blatant show of it. Like a vulture sensing a change in the pack, she picks up on Gabriel’s estrangement and is preparing to swoop in to devour him. I tell myself the sucker-sucking bitch can have him, but can’t work up enough anger to really mean it.

Still, it shouldn’t matter because after school I’m going to call my case worker and insist to be removed from my current placement. Maybe I’ll go back to The Children’s Center.

And maybe I’ll find Derry.

“So which ones sound good to you?”

Becke’s question catches me off guard and I rack my brain trying to remember what I’m supposed to have an opinion about… right, movies. Faking a smile, I reply, “Whichever one sounds best to you guys. Really, I’m easy.”

Gabriel makes a low snort of disagreement, but all he says is, “I’ll go along with whatever the group decides.”

“Jonah?” Becke looks at him and he colors. Then, clearing his throat, he asks her to go through the short list again. As she complies, I cast surreptitious glances at him.  His halo is so ephemeral it’s nearly nonexistent. While this would be a character flaw in most, for a boy with tendencies toward the dark side, it’s a good thing. I observe him nodding attentively as Becke gives a brief synopsis of the new movies playing this weekend, and I wonder if she realizes
she’s the reason for his unguarded smile.

I try not to think about what happens to them after I leave.

Unfortunately, my mind turns to darker things as we head to fifth period. The one thing I won’t miss is Mr. Creepy. Although he has lost some of his menace, his steely halo remains dark and inert, leaving an acrid taste on my tongue. I count the seconds until English is over and it’s time for gym.

Coach Mann has divided the class up by sex for the basketball rotation. Two half court games—boys at one end, girls at the other. I’m by no means a star athlete, but pounding a ball into the ground feels therapeutic. Playing with grave enthusiasm, I do my best not to notice the boys at the opposite end of the gym or the way Gabriel seems to be frowning at me every time my attention gets pulled in his direction.

I occupy myself by imagining a soundtrack in my head, something fast and angry. A big
F— you!
to the world. Keeping time to my imagined music, I “accidentally” bounce a pass to Naomi hard enough to knock her down. Unfortunately, she doesn’t stay that way.

After class, she flounces up to Gabriel, reeking of insincerity and strawberry lip gloss. “Gabriel,” she drawls with a faux pout, “I think your girlfriend’s mad at you and taking it out on me.”

Before I can stop myself, I interject, “I’m not his girlfriend.”

Naomi’s brow lifts. Her lips curve slyly upwards as my denial registers with her.
Crap!
“Oh, really?” she purrs. Reaching out, she slides a manicured hand across Gabriel’s bicep and my stomach cramps, like she’s kicked me.

But I pretend everything’s fine.

Ignoring the cheerleader’s sticky advances, Gabriel continues to scowl at me in contradiction, saying nothing. He’s displeased—and maybe a little hurt—but then, so am I. Why does his reaction bother me so much, when I’m practically already gone?

As I turn away, walking toward the locker room with my head high, I bite my lower lip again until the physical discomfort and coppery taste of blood distract me from the other pain.